


Raw Head and Bloody Bones

by writteninhaste



Series: Dark of Night [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:29:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2198847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writteninhaste/pseuds/writteninhaste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A simple child. That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raw Head and Bloody Bones

**Author's Note:**

> _One fine day in the middle of the night,_  
>  Two dead boys got up to fight,  
> Back to back they faced each other,  
> Drew their swords and shot each other. 

All were silent as Gaius solemnly drew the rough blanket over the small body lying at the edge of the woods. The air seemed heavy, rancid with the soft horror that often accompanies violent death. Merlin watched as two knights lifted the body between them and began the route back to Camelot. A tiny hand, pale and unmarred, slipped from beneath the blanket; Merlin thought he might be sick. Behind him Uther and his advisors were conversing in hushed tones, whilst Arthur and his knights shifted in their armour and stared at the place where the child had lain. Merlin could still see her face, blue-lipped and grey-skinned; cold and dead. Her eyes had been blue and cloudy in death. He swallowed convulsively against the bile rising in his throat and tried to focus on anything other than the fear that was edging its into his mind. Eight children – all under the age of thirteen – had disappeared from Camelot in the past six weeks. This little girl had been the first one recovered – dead and barely three years old.

Camelot had never seen anything of the like and the parents of the lower city were becoming frantic, wondering which of their children would be next. Arthur and his knights had been walking nightly patrols, scouring the city in the hopes of catching the culprit, but no one ever saw the children leave their beds and the abductor had not been caught. After the third child had disappeared, Uther had called for every vagabond and vagrant to be rounded up and escorted to the dungeons where they were ‘questioned’ as to the whereabouts of the children. The methods of questioning had (at first) resulted in more than one argument between father and son. It had not been until the fifth child had disappeared that Uther had begun sweeping the city for sorcerers. Merlin had heard many a bitter mother whisper that the king was less inclined to believe such things the work of wizardry when it was not his son at risk. Merlin made sure to keep such mutterings from the Prince’s ears.

As soldiers had moved through city and the castle, Arthur had personally gone to each of the affected families and asked if they had seen or heard _anything_ before their child disappeared. Every family gave the same reply: we saw nothing, we heard nothing, we put them to bed in the evening and in the morning they weren’t there.

Merlin listened with half an ear as Uther once again instructed Arthur to find this villain. In normal circumstances, the fact that the king had seen fit to send Arthur to the lower city personally, had ridden out to see the discovery of the body, would have told Merlin all he needed to know about the gravity of the situation. As it was, the fearful whispering and murmured prayers of parents in the streets proclaimed the city’s panic to all with eyes and ears. Merlin wondered how many more children would have to die before they caught the monster responsible.

“ – sorcerer.” Merlin’s head snapped up at the sound of Arthur’s voice. He whipped around to face the Prince and found him staring into the distance. The rest of the party had already returned to the castle.

“Sorry?” Merlin breathed, hoping Arthur had missed the way his voice broke on the word.

“The person murdering these children – he or she has to be a powerful sorcerer.” Arthur repeated. “No one of mediocre skill could have done such things.”

Merlin said nothing, choosing instead to simply scuff a foot into the dirt. He had suspected strong dark magic since the first children had disappeared, but had been reluctant to make the suggestion. Every time Uther caught even a whiff of enchantments in Camelot it started a witch-hunt that sent more innocents to their deaths than it found evil sorcerers. He still remembers the pyre that was built for Gwen. Stifling a sigh, Merlin once again wished for the day when Arthur would be king. He longed for the golden age he knew Arthur would provide. Secrecy and lies were beginning to weigh heavy on his mind.

“What will you do?” He asked eventually, when it became clear that Arthur would volunteer no more information. He watched as Arthur’s shoulders rose and fell as the prince heaved a sigh too quiet for Merlin to hear.

“My father has ordered that at dawn tomorrow I take a contingent of knights and begin to sweep the outer villages. Since there is no evidence of a sorcerer in Camelot, this villain must be hiding there. Any one even suspected of using sorcery is to be brought before the court.”

“And executed.” Merlin whispered.

“What you say is treason.” There was a biting edge to Arthur’s voice. Not anger, not yet, but a warning against any further words. Merlin could see the muscles clenching along Arthur’s jaw; the frustration and rage that boiled so close to the surface these days.

“My apologies, Sire.”

Ever since the questing beast, things had been _different_ between Arthur and Merlin. Where once there had been ease and friendship there was now a plethora of things left unsaid and a camaraderie that had grown fetid and pestilent with neglect. Merlin knew that it was not simply him that Arthur had withdrawn from. The Prince scorned Morgana’s company as well – his words loosing the taste of childhood rivalry, instead assuming a hard and bitter edge. His days were spent cloistered in Uther’s council chambers or on the field with his knights. Only to Gwen did Arthur retain any sense of common courtesy and even that was slight. To Merlin, it seemed as though months of personal growth had been swept away between one breath and the next. The young manservant failed to fathom why, and the Prince refused to entertain the matter in conversation, so that all that remained, was a jilted sense of loss and want and irritable dissatisfaction.

Now, as the pair stood staring down at the flattered space of grass, where the body of a small child had lain only moments ago, Merlin wanted to grab Arthur and shake him; to ask when and why and what they could do to change things. Merlin wanted the old Arthur back. He would even take the arrogant bully over this quiet and angry Prince.

Arthur swung into the saddle, barely sparing Merlin a glance as he guided his mount towards the path. Merlin was left to struggle onto his own pony, with only the impatient snorting of Arthur’s stallion to hurry him along.

oOo

Morgana was standing at the window, watching, as they clattered into the castle courtyard. Arthur spared her no more than a glance before summoning a stable hand to take his horse, but Merlin stayed, watching Morgana’s face as his master walked away. Her delicate features twisted into a hateful sneer as Arthur disappeared through the door that would take him to his father’s council chambers. Merlin wondered if it was Uther’s neglect or Arthur’s that had reduced her to this state. Since Tom’s death she had nipped holes in the policy of the realm; challenged Uther before those expected to obey him and born her nights in the dungeons with an increasing sense of vindication. Her taunts to Arthur had grown cruel as she attempted to wear away the foundations of his rule. A well place barb – a word or two whispered in a foreign ear – combined with machinations of her own devising amongst the factions of the court, all threatened to undermine the faith Arthur instilled in the people. Should her plans succeed all Morgana would have to do would be to sit back and watch Uther’s faith in Arthur turn to dust. Merlin was determined not to let it happen. He thanked the gods that Arthur was well liked enough amongst both the people and the court that the process would be slow. In a way Merlin supposed he should be glad that Morgana had chosen to antagonise Uther to such an extent. The King’s irritation with his ward had resulted in his attentions and affections defaulting on his son – and with Arthur’s increased attendance at the council it seemed as though the relationship between King and Prince was at last becoming one of _mutual_ respect and understanding.

Noticing Merlin watching her, Morgana arched one carefully sculpted eyebrow and turned from the window. Merlin stayed, staring at the space she had been until the stable-master yelled at him for keeping his horse standing in the courtyard. With a sigh, he passed the reins to one of the stable-hands and made his way indoors, veering away from the central parts of the castle and up the winding staircase that led to the physician’s quarters.

Gauis was at his table, bent of the small lifeless body he had accompanied back to Camelot. The lines, already a permanent feature on his brow, were deeper – carved from grief and something too akin to resignation for Merlin’s comfort.

“Gaius?” Merlin ventured, stepping further into the room and letting the door swing shut behind him. The air was heavy in the chamber, as though the sorrow of this lost life was felt by Nature. Gaius straightened, and drew the cloth over the child’s face.

“She drowned.” He said tiredly. “There was water in her lungs.”

Merlin nodded, too quick and too sharp so that pain sliced up his spin and into the base of his skull. He suddenly wanted to be very far away; away from Gaius, and the room, and the small, sad body that lay on the table where Merlin and Gaius would eat there evening meal.

“I have to attend Arthur.” Merlin said quickly, and rushed from the room. The air in the staircase was cooler, biting and chilled after the oppressive weight of Gaius’ workshop but Merlin welcomed the sting. Coughing slightly, he hastened through the castle corridors stopping only once to ask if the Prince was still in an audience with the King.

oOo

Merlin leant against the wall, chewing his lip raw as the parent’s of the little girl found at the edge of the wood, stood before Uther’s throne and were informed of their daughter’s death. Merlin wondered if the King realised the cruelty of delivering such news inside cold, stone walls rather than at the couple’s home. No doubt he thought that by summoning them to his presence, he was expressing how concerned he was with catching the culprit. But Merlin could tell by the mother’s face that she thought the king uncaring; that her daughter’s death was no more personal or grieving than the levying of a tax or census.

Perhaps if the king had chosen some other means of delivering the news, things would be different. As it was Uther sat, gloved hand fisted on the arm of his throne, as he listened to a herald convey the crown’s condolences. To the parents of the child it evidently seemed as though the king was immovable and removed as ever – a monarch carved from winter stone. But Merlin had been witness to enough private audiences; had been present enough times when Prince and King debated back and forth as to how to help the people, that he knew the image to be a façade. The lines were deeper around Uther’s mouth and eyes, dark smudges rested beneath his lids and the muscles in his jaw jumped and twitched with continued strain. He dismissed the parents with a regal nod and assurances that the Crown was doing everything it could to find the missing children. The woman curtseyed, the man bowed, they their thanks. But it was clear from their expressions that they expected no help from this quarter. It was only when Arthur stopped them, face open and voice sincere as he gave his own guarantees that hope crept onto the woman’s features. Merlin caught Gwen’s eye across the hall and looked away again.

This was yet another sign that things in Camelot were changing. Though at the Court, ward and prince were battling for control, it was clear that the city (at the very least) was Arthur’s. The people looked to Arthur now, more than they looked to the King. It was his knights – not Uther’s – that patrolled the streets at night; he who hurried youngsters to their homes and checked to see how the families of the missing children faired. Arthur had become the kingdom’s lifeblood – the very force that kept the people living. Whilst Uther might yet be Camelot’s walls – Arthur had become her cornerstone. As the doors closed upon the parent’s exit, Arthur motioned for Merlin to fetch wine and water from the kitchens, before turning his attention to his father.

One of the cooks helped Merlin to prepare a tray as she pressed him for information. The scullery maids exchanged fearful glances as Merlin relayed the news. They would have heard of the child’s discovery already – word spread quickly in both the castle and the city – but all were eager for any intelligence concerning a possible culprit. They knew as well as Merlin that blind panic was beginning to spread. Parents all over the city could be heard calling for their children as darkness fell, hurrying them inside as they hung hagstones from the bedposts. Merlin had seen more than one youngster sporting sprigs of rosemary or rowan, and more than one housewife burying an iron knife beneath her doorstep.

Returning to the hall with loaded tray, Merlin instinctively scanned the room for Arthur. The Prince was stood beside a pillar, arms folded across his chest and gaze fixed firmly on the floor, as his father once again extolled the evils of sorcery. Leaving Gwen to serve the King and Morgana, Merlin filled a goblet with water and wine and made his way to Arthur’s side. The Prince acknowledged his presence with a half-glance, eyes tightening almost imperceptibly as Uther pronounced that any man, woman or child suspected of sorcery was to be tortured into ending the spell that plagued the city. As Morgana protested against such barbaric cruelty, Arthur downed the contents of his glass, his knuckles white around the stem. Merlin waited for him to protest as well – as he would have done months ago – but Arthur said nothing. Merlin stared at Arthur, willing the Prince to look at him but all he received was an imperceptible tightening of Arthur’s shoulders and a quiet wave of despair. Was this what it had come to? Was Arthur now so desperate to support his father – so removed from either Merlin or Morgana – that he would condone _torture_. He had opposed it, at the beginning, when Uther had condemned all vagrants within the city walls to the cells. Merlin remembered hoping that this flash of the old Arthur signalled a return to normalcy. What had happened for the Prince to turn a blind eye this time?

Gently, Merlin took the goblet Arthur handed him, letting his fingers gaze the Prince’s wrist. Arthur’s gaze flicked to him and Merlin tried to silently convey support and a listening ear. Arthur seemed to consider him for a moment before deliberately turning away. Merlin paused, fighting back a wave of resentment, before retreating to the other side of the hall. As he took the jug back from Gwen, Merlin heard Morgana begin to tear strips from Arthur for not opposing the torture decree. Gwen quickly snatched Merlin’s load back from him as he scowled in displeasure. Tensions were running high enough in Camelot that she was apparently afraid he would throw the jug at her mistress. Merlin was not sure it wouldn’t be a good idea. Something was _wrong_ and Morgana was too involved in her own world view to see it. She was right and everyone else was wrong. Uther was a tyrant, Arthur his pawn – as weak and ineffectual a leader as Camelot had ever seen. Even Gwen – dear, sweet Gwen – appeared displeased when Morgana had said such things. She saw, as Merlin did, that it went against Arthur’s nature not to protect his people at all cost. Merlin had to trust that Arthur had his reasons for behaving in such a way. But Morgana chose to ignore such truths, opting instead to hurl spiteful, bitter words to compensate for her own impotence.

Morgana’s outburst was met with equal rage on Uther’s part. Both Ward and Prince were expelled from his presence without further ceremony, their attendants following behind. Morgana brushed past Arthur without a word, Gwen trailing apologetically behind; the soldiers guarding the throne room kept their eyes fixed firmly ahead.

oOo

It was raining, when Arthur had his knights returned from their patrols the following day. Merlin had not been invited to go with them, and though he rose at dawn determined to follow them anyway, it was to find the group already departed. Merlin wilfully tried to ignore the hurt and resentment that coiled hot and tight within his throat.

Slowly he made his way to Arthur’s chambers. The jug of mead he carried he kept warm with magic, reluctant to once again throw himself into the presence of a man who had apparently grown to see him as less than a servant. He missed the evenings spent in Arthur’s chambers, laughing as Arthur vainly tried to teach Merlin chess and Merlin deliberately fumbled the pieces just to see Arthur smile. More often than not, his nights were now spent in his own chambers, reading his magic book and waiting for summons that never came.

Arthur was nowhere to be seen when Merlin slunk into his chambers. Hastily, Merlin placed the mead on the table, nearly jumping out of his skin when he turned to find Arthur standing in the doorway. Merlin shuffled his feet, unsure what to say. Arthur was dripping water all over the floor. His tunic and breeches were sodden and plastered to his body. Time was when Merlin would not have hesitated to strip Arthur from his things, but these days he was not sure he would be allowed.

“Ar – my lord?” Merlin corrected when Arthur glowered at him. “Will you be needing anything?”

Arthur paused for the space of a heartbeat. “Help me change clothes,” he said, “I have a meeting with the council in an hour.”

Merlin nodded and began divesting Arthur of his wet garments. The Prince stood rigid and silent as Merlin undressed and re-dressed him.

“You’ll find them, Arthur, I know you will.” The words seemed small and ineffectual, even as Merlin said them, but he did not know how to express the absolute certainty he felt that Arthur _would_ succeed. Arthur’s lips twitched in response, but he did not say anything. Merlin sighed. Smoothing down a final crease in Arthur’s tunic he stepped away and made his way toward the door, not waiting to see if he was dismissed or not. Arthur’s voice held him back.

“My father has combed this city from wall to keep, we’ve widened the searches but we don’t have the men to both protect the city _and_ patrol the outer villages. We need something – some indication as to where to start looking for this sorcerer.”

Merlin turned. Arthur’s mouth was tight and drawn; he looked tired. Merlin met his gaze and was surprised when Arthur did not look away. There was something vulnerable in Arthur’s countenance in that moment. Cautiously, Merlin did what he had not dared to do in weeks and took a seat at the Prince’s own table. Arthur stared at him for a moment, and then took his own seat by the fire. Internally, Merlin sighed in relief.

“Why is it,” Arthur said at last, startling Merlin from his reverie, “that you have such unwavering faith in my abilities, Merlin?”

Merlin swallowed. He could not just come out and tell Arthur that it was his destiny to unite the lands of Albion; to forge for himself a name that would survive, for over a millennia. Instead he settled on a phrase he had uttered to Arthur many times before.

“You’re going to be a great king.” Arthur snorted and cast a glance over his shoulder at Merlin. The manservant ducked his head in acknowledgement that his statement did not answer the question.

He only looked up again when Arthur asked, “Do you believe I’m ready to be king?”

Merlin stared. Arthur was gazing at him, calm and poised, an expression of polite enquiry on his face, as though he had simply asked Merlin about the weather. But his eyes belied the serenity of his features. There was something hard and challenging in their depths, tinged with a little bit of betrayal and a lot of defiance. Merlin wondered what had happened to place those emotions there.

“Yes,” Merlin said, watching Arthur’s face carefully, “and no. If a kingdom were governed by the people’s love alone you would be more than ready to be king, but too many of the older lords still see you as a child. They would attempt to undermine and control your rule were you to take the throne. You need to learn to manipulate _them_ before you become king.”

Arthur stared at him long and hard, and Merlin got the distinct impression that Arthur had just given him a test, and was deliberating as to whether or not he had passed. In the end he sat back and stared at the fire once more.

“That is all Merlin, you may go.”

Merlin left, and for the first time in a long time felt something warm and familiar settle in his chest.

oOo

Merlin dug the heels of his palms into his forehead and sighed. None of Gaius’ books gave even the slightest hint of a spell that would require the deaths of so many, nor of any creature that could be summoned to do the deed. There had been one mention of a woman cursed by the roman gods (who had devoured children in revenge for the deaths of her own) but the roman gods held no power in Albion, and Merlin could not recall ever hearing of the gods of the Old Religion doing such a thing.

Still, something gnawed at his mind – a half-remembered memory that simply drifted further away the harder he thought about it. Sighing, Merlin pushed away the heavy tome he had been studying and stood. Gaius was already snoring on his pallet and the candle had burnt down to now more than a pool of wax. Glancing out the window, Merlin saw the moon low and fat in the night sky. There would be enough light to see by then, if he were to walk the town. Uther had instilled a curfew, but Merlin could avoid detection if need be.

Stealing across the workroom floor, Merlin quietly eased the door open and slipped into the corridor. Keeping to the shadows he swiftly left the palace and headed for the streets of the Lower City. In the distance he could hear the murmur of voices and the heavy footsteps of men in armour – Arthur’s patrol, no doubt. Veering left he moved away from the party and into the narrow streets and dirt tracks that marked the poorest quarter of the city. Passing a house that had barred its door and windows with tin crosses, Merlin paused. At the end of the lane, caught in a glimmer of moonlight that fell between the houses, was a little boy, calling something Merlin could not hear through the lock of one of the houses. He was dressed in a nightgown of what appeared to be white linen and Merlin wondered if he was the son of a wealthy merchant, who had snuck from his bed – for none of the families in this street could afford such things. Holding out his hand, Merlin stepped towards the child.

“Are you lost? Do you need help getting home?” But the boy did not seem to hear him. Turning, the child raced to the next house over and once more pressed his mouth to the key hole.

“Hey now,” Merlin said, “what are you doing?” He reached out a hand to grab the boy, but his hand past right through. Merlin skittered back in surprise. The boy turned to stare, and Merlin realised that though a cloud and passed over the moon the child was still glowing silver-white. The boy gazed at him with milky, pupil-less eyes. His voice when he spoke, was high and clear and echoed like moonlight on the sea. “The children should be in their beds. They should, they should.”

Merlin opened his mouth to say that at this hour he would think almost everybody was in their beds but the child turned suddenly, his moon-white hair lifting in an unseen breeze. “It’s coming.” He whispered and took off down the street yelling at the top of his lungs for the children to stay in their beds. Merlin stared after him, bewildered as to what was going on, when he felt something enter the lane behind him.

Slowly, Merlin stole a glance over his shoulder. The road was shrouded in darkness, thick patches of shadows caressing the walls and ground. It slithered up the street with liquid malice. The breath choked in Merlin’s throat. Something ancient, primal and instinctive had taught him to fear that darkness long ago. As the shadows edged towards him, Merlin turned in his heel and ran.

oOo

When Gaius awoke the next morning it was to find Merlin asleep on a pile of books and parchment, with an inky quill sticky out from under his ear. Shaking his ward awake, Gaius frowned as he saw an assortment of phrases scribbled over the parchment. Picking one up, Gaius read the words with disbelief. “Merlin, what were you doing staying up all night to write down nursery tales.”

Merlin groaned and wiped a hand across his face. “I thought – last night, in the city, I saw a – a ghost I think. Of a little child – a boy. He reminded me of a rhyme my mother used to sing to me when I was little. And there was a shadow –”

“A shadow? Merlin, are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I thought I had something but –” Merlin trailed off as Gaius picked up yet another scrap of parchment.

“As I was walking on the stair, I met a man who wasn’t there – Merlin this is nonsense. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Exactly.” Merlin cried, gesticulating wildly. He subsided when Gaius raised an eyebrow. “They’re just rhymes my mother taught me.”

“Yes well,” the physician murmured. “You’d best get cleaned up and then you have to tend to Arthur. And by the way, you have ink on your face.”

Merlin scrubbed a hand across his cheek, staring balefully at the myriad of papers strewn across the table.

oOo

Arthur’s chambers were warm and drowsy. A fire crackled in the hearth and the scent of cedar hung heavy in the air. Merlin turned his face towards the heat as he swept away the ash from before the fireplace. Setting the broom to one side, Merlin settled himself before the fire and rested his back against one of Arthur’s table-legs. It would only be a little nap – he would be finished with his chores before Arthur returned.

_Moonlight was streaming in from the window, falling across the floor in ribbons of quicksilver. His mother was breathing softly, arm curled around him in sleep, lending him her warmth in the chill of night._

_Wriggling, Merlin shuffled across the bed until he could lower himself over the edge, toes brushing against the floor as he slid downwards. With a soft_ whump _he landed, wishing for the day when he would be big enough to get out of bed on his own. As quietly as he was able, Merlin scampered across the cold dirt floor. Clambering onto the one rough hewn chair they owned, Merlin teetered precariously as he craned to see out of the window. Something was moving – out there in the darkness. Curious, Merlin scrambled down from the chair and slipped out the house, praying his mother did not awaken in his absence._

_There was a patch of liquid shadow, moving in the darkness. It writhed and boiled, congealing against the wall of the neighbouring house. That was Will’s house – the shadow was fingering the shadows of Will’s room. Concerned now, Merlin crept closer. The shadow, as if sensing his presence, turned. The oily shadow oozed across the space between them, licking at the ground near Merlin’s feet._

_Merlin’s magic_ screamed _. The shadows reached for him and Merlin threw up a hand to shield his face. The world exploded in a wash of golden light and suddenly the Merlin was drowning in white and grey lumps the size of his fist. The shadows shrieked – a lingering, inhuman sound that had Merlin whimpering as he cowered away. The air was riddled with the stench of burning flesh. The salt and iron rained down harder and the shadows fled; Merlin raced back to his mother’s house and into the bed, burrowing into her embrace and trembling._

_The next morning, the women of the village hung bells of brass from windows and doors as farmers placed them on the cattle. They were wise enough to guess what the strange rainfall of the night had protected them against. The salt was collected and kept for the winter; the iron was melted down. No one mentioned it again, but for months to come the women of the village wove protective charms into clothing and made bracelets out of hazel. Merlin’s mother made a pouch and filled it with salted oatmeal, making him promise to never take it off. She said she did not want to risk his being taken like little Beornwyn, and young Osythe, had been. Merlin agreed with all of solemnity of a frightened six year old. He remembered the writhing darkness._

_A fortnight later, Beornwyn and Osythe had been found floating facedown in mill pond._

Merlin started awake and stared into the fire. He could still taste the oily shadows on his tongue. Shivering, Merlin scrambled to his feet. Leaving his chores half-finished he headed for the market.

oOo

“Lord Anson’s son has been taken.”

Merlin looked up from where he was wiping a cloth across Arthur’s table. The Prince was standing by the open door, arms folded across his chest. Merlin noticed that tension had caused the muscles to bunch and coil beneath the fabric of the linen shirt he wore. “And no others have been found?” Merlin asked.

Arthur shook his head. “None. My father was furious when he heard the boy was missing.”

Merlin snorted bitterly, “Because of course, the disappearance of a single noble child outweighs that of eight others from the Lower City.” He regretted the words the moment he saw the hurt and anger flicker across Arthur’s face.

“He is angry because this is the ninth child we have been unable to save.” Arthur said clearly, biting off each word with clear precision, “We are doing all we can.”

Merlin bit his lip and said nothing. He did not voice his opinion that the King did not share Arthur’s belief that these children were equal – that the child of a commoner was as important to his parents as the son of a noble was to his.

“What happened?” Merlin asked quietly. Moving out of the way as Arthur slumped into a seat before the fire.

“He ran away from his nurse when she tried to put him to bed, escaped the castle grounds. The woman chased him as far as the castle walls but then the darkness swallowed him.”

Merlin straightened in hope, “So there’s a chance he’s not taken – he might just be wondering the forest, lost.”

Arthur sighed, “You don’t understand, Merlin. She says the darkness _ate_ him. She said it was _alive_.”

Fear spiked in the back of Merlin’s memory; an intrinsic terror, and the memory of a shadow that moved. Something must have shown on his face, as Arthur stood and moved towards him. About to launch into an interrogation, Arthur’s attention was diverted by the glint of polished rock by his bedpost. Crossing the room, the heir to the throne lifted the stone from its resting place, tugging on the string that bound it to his headboard.

“Merlin, what’s this?” He demanded, proffering the stone as much as he was able.

“It’s a hagstone,” Merlin said, “it’s meant to protect you while you sleep.”

Arthur frowned. “I trust there is a reason why you would resort to something so akin to sorcery for my protection Merlin? Perhaps there is something you wish to tell me?” With a jerk he snapped the string holding the charm to the bed and tossed it to Merlin, who caught it with fumbling hands.

“Well?”

Merlin hesitated, “I don’t – I – I’m scared.” Arthur stared at him, and Merlin regretted the confession, bracing himself for the Prince’s ridicule. Hunching in on himself, Merlin curled his hands around the stone that he had imbued with all the protective charms he knew. He would never let any harm come to Arthur – not whilst there was breath in his body. Instead of the rebuke he feared, Merlin felt a warm hand settle on his shoulder, as another plucked the polished stone from his grip. Surprised, Merlin glanced up to meet Arthur’s gaze. The compassion Merlin saw there, so alien after weeks of indifference, left him unable to speak.

“It will be alright.” Arthur told him, “We’ll catch whoever’s doing this.” Merlin bit his lip and looked away, and the hand on his shoulder curled tighter.

“ _Merlin_.”

Merlin nodded rapidly, too quickly to pass off as casual and slid away. Arthur sighed and let his arm fall to his side. Merlin missed the flash of hurt across the Prince’s features.

“I’m riding out on patrol.” He said coolly, signalling for Merlin to bring his riding leathers. “Accompany us as far as the woodlands and then turn back.” Merlin said nothing about the peculiarity of the request, merely nodding as he helped Arthur into his doublet.

A shriek and the sound of metal against stone drew their attention to the corridor outside. Arthur was moving, sword drawn and held before him, before Merlin even had a chance to process what was happening. He hurried after, spilling from Arthur’s room in a tangle of limbs and feet.

His eyes found first Gwen, and then Morgana. The lady was stood, goblet rolling at her feet and liquid pooling on the floor and dripping from the wall. Before her, one of the servants scraped and bowed in apology though it seemed he was not sure what his offence had been. Gwen looked worried, reaching for her mistress even as Morgana rebuffed her attentions. Her hair was wild – a snarled and tangled mess billowing around her face. Her eyes were wide and red-rimmed as though she had been crying.

“Morgana?” Arthur asked, his voice holding no hint of derision. The woman simply stared at him, lips moving in silent ridicule or prayer – it was impossible to tell.

“Guinevere, take the Lady Morgana to her room, and fetch Gaius. She is not well.” Gwen bobbed a curtsey and led Morgana away, the lady crumpling as her maid led her to her chambers. The servant had made himself scarce as soon as Morgana’s attention was diverted and Merlin could not blame him. The Seer had looked truly mad. Merlin wondered if that was not nearly the truth. Gwen had confided that Morgana muttered in her sleep, spending much of her day lost in thought and the rest of it being angry and frustrated with everything – least of all the King.

As he followed Arthur to the stables, Merlin fretted over the possibility that the stress of denying her gifts, even as her mind sought to embrace them had cost Morgana her sanity. Had the weight of her visions driven her to try and tear the kingdom asunder? The Morgana he had first known had been a fearsome force to be reckoned with; Merlin dreaded what she would be capable of doing if she no longer had reason or conscience to temper her.

The knights were already assembled, mounted and armed, red capes billowing behind them. Merlin held Arthur’s horse as he swung into the saddle before following suit with rather less grace. Ordinarily, the knights would have offered good-humoured jests at his expense, but the company was tense and no humour was forthcoming. With a sharp drop of the hand, Arthur motioned the knights forward. They picked their way through the city, Arthur pretending to not see the accusatory gazes of the people and Merlin noticing them too much. He wanted to scream at them, “Can’t you see he’s trying? Can’t you see he cares for this kingdom more than _anything_ else?” but he held his breath. In this Arthur sided with the people, blaming himself; there was no use in trying to convince him otherwise.

At the forest’s edge, Arthur turned Merlin away, despite his protests. In the end it had taken the threat of the stocks to force Merlin to leave Arthur’s side and even then it was with great reluctance. He returned to Gaius, sullen and frustrated.

Stomping into the physician’s workshop, Merlin caught his foot on an uneven flagstone and ended up sprawled across the cold floor. Cursing, he twisted, turning to see just what had tripped him. The corner edge of one of the stones at the threshold had broken off, sticking up at an awkward angle just waiting to trip the unwary. Grumbling, Merlin made to realign the stone in the proper position when the glint of metal caught his eyes. Lifting the piece of stone free, Merlin saw a small flat disk nestled in the dirt beneath the floor. He blinked, and then resettled the corner of the flagstone in the appropriate place.

Gaius chose that moment to come bustling around the corner.

“Merlin? What on Earth are you doing?”

Merlin ignored the question, brushing himself off as got to his feet. “Gaius, why do you have coins buried beneath your floor?”

The physician sighed, in the way he did when Merlin asked something particularly foolish, and moved further into the room. “Not coins; iron. It was a common practice when the castle was built. Thresholds were lined with brass or iron to keep the fey away. The castle walls are run under with iron, brass and salt. None of the Unseelie Court may pass Camelot’s walls.”

Merlin frowned, “But – Aulfric, and Sophia?”

Gaius’s mouth turned downwards. “They were Daoine Sídhe. The rules do not apply to them.”

Merlin slumped to the bench and placed his chin in his hand. “So if Iron cannot protect against the Daoine Sídhe, why bother?”

Gaius sighed, “Because there are more threats than those posed by the fey nobility, Merlin. Salt, iron, rowan, garlic – all these will protect against evil spirits, against the malicious of the common fairy folk; they will ward away the evil eye. Unfortunately, they do nothing to combat human wickedness and so sorcerers both malignant and benign may enter Camelot.”

Merlin snorted, but refrained from saying anything at the sight of Gaius’s raised eyebrow. As the physician pottered around his workshop, Merlin mulled over his new found information. The fear and familiarity were growing in his mind, pushing to the forefront, only to be smothered again before Merlin could give his fear a name. A living shadow, iron and salt. It was on the tip of his tongue –

The clattering of hooves in the courtyard below stole the thought away and hurried Merlin to Arthur’s chambers. A whispered word and a fire was roaring in the grate; the warmth permeating the room in a blissful wave.

Arthur entered in a clatter of steal and palpable frustration. He threw his gloves down onto the table and then with far more care removed his sword. Merlin made to help the Prince out of his jacket, but Arthur jerked at the contact and stepped away. Merlin frowned.

“Arthur?”

The Prince stripped off his jacket and dumped it on the floor, before moving to stare out across the city, from the window. “We found no trace of sorcery in the woods.” Arthur stated, fingers unconsciously moving to rub across his shoulder. “No sign of spell casting or practice. And no one in the city has seen anything – for all they’re desperate to find the villain.”

“Perhaps the culprit is not a sorcerer.” Merlin suggested, wishing Arthur would allow him to tend to the shoulder. It obviously still pained him, but Arthur was unwaveringly stubborn.

“What else could it be?” Arthur demanded. “Gaius told my father that no creature in his books is known to do such things. And don’t even think of suggesting this to be the work of a regular criminal.” He ordered, when Merlin opened his mouth, “To come and go without a trace requires magic.”

Merlin shifted uncomfortably, unsure what Arthur would say to the idea he was about to voice. “What if – what if Gaius missed something. Something so obvious and mundane that it didn’t even register.” Arthur raised an eyebrow impatiently, and Merlin hurried on. “There are some things, not mentioned in the reference books. Things we talk about so often that they’ve lost the power to frighten most adults, though they terrify all children.”

“What _are_ you talking about Merlin?”

“The creatures of nursery tales, Sire. The boggles we used to hear about when we were younger?”

Arthur laughed – a surprised, derisive sound. “Is _that_ why you hung that thing above my bed,” Arthur asked incredulously, “you think Raw Head and Bloody Bones is going to come and get me.”

Merlin felt something wet and cold settle in the pit of his stomach. “What did you say?” He whispered.

Arthur turned, “Oh surely your mother told you that one.” He said. “Raw Head and Bloody Bones, steals naughty children from their homes –”

“He takes them to his dirty den where they are never seen again.” Merlin finished and at the corner of his gaze he saw Arthur’s eyes widen in horror, the laughter dying on his lips.

“Where they are never seen again.” He murmured. Both men recalled the stories now. Of the _bodach_ who could take any form he chose; stealing into children’s bed and carrying them away to drown them in his lake. The frightened child in Merlin’s mind remembered the twisting shadow that had prowled outside Will’s window and fled when iron and salt had fallen from the sky.

“Perhaps,” Merlin said, “it’s not so silly for children to be afraid, after all.” The fear was clawing through his mind – the memories of his childhood flooding him with the terror he had felt that night, when the darkness had reached for him and his magic had torn through his veins. It had saved him, but Merlin had not ventured out after dark for years to come. “You said that Lord Anson’s son was eaten by the darkness, by a living shadow?”

Arthur nodded. “I did.”

Merlin gulped. “When I was younger, two children from our village went missing; just disappeared from their beds whilst everyone was sleeping. One night I crept outside and I saw a shadow, it was moving – trying to get in at Will’s window.”

“What happened?” Arthur asked.

“My mother found I was missing,” Merlin lied, “she threw salt at the thing and it fled. It screamed like a wounded animal.”

Arthur stayed silent before straightening. “Go to the kitchens and pack some food and water. I’ll ride for the forest as soon as it’s dark.”

“Gaius – The King. I’ll go with you.” Merlin spluttered.

“No,” Arthur answered, “and you will mention my departure to no-one. Not to Gaius, and certainly not to the King; not even if he orders you to tell him.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. What did Arthur fear that he would order Merlin to defy Uther. “What, but why?” He asked, casting about uselessly for answers.

Arthur rounded on him, anger and incredulity evident on his face as though he could not decide whether Merlin’s ignorance annoyed or surprised him. “ _Because_ Merlin, the moment I mention that this _thing_ fears salt and iron my father will arrest every man, woman or child who has guarded their home against the fey. He will not see them as frightened people only trying to protect themselves – he will assume that they have done so because they had prior knowledge of the creature. It pains me to speak ill of the king, but it is the truth. He would show no mercy and I would not see so many executed. I believed you thought the same. Though perhaps you are far more willing to have blood on your hands.”

Merlin gaped. Shocked and more hurt than he cared too admit by the words. “Arthur, what are you talking about?”

Arthur snarled and began to pace. His feet snapped onto the stone floor, the muted sound belying the strength of his apparent rage.

Merlin reached for his friend only to be roughly brushed aside. “ _Arthur_.”

“Stop pretending to be ignorant, Merlin.” Arthur yelled at him, fist coming up to slam against the wall.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Merlin cried.

“I’m talking about Morgana. About how she planned to murder my father.”

Merlin went white. His mind scrambled for something to say. How did he know? Merlin had never told a soul about Morgana’s plans that day. “Arthur, I –”

“You _knew_.” Arthur hissed. “You knew and you said nothing.” Merlin stared, horrified, mouth opening and closing ineffectually. Arthur snorted. “You talk in your sleep, did you know?” He asked mildly, though there was a note of anguish in his voice. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard. I thought you were simply dreaming. But then I saw the way you watched Morgana – as though waiting for her to renege on some bargain; waiting for her to change her mind and kill the king. My _father_ Merlin.”

The pain was raw in Arthur's voice, and Merlin felt a single tear slip down his cheek. He had never meant to betray Arthur by not telling him. He understood now why Arthur had withdrawn from him. He only hoped the Prince would give him a chance to explain.

“I didn’t – Arthur, _please_.”

Arthur shook his head, the anger leaving him to be replaced with a bone-deep weariness.

“Get out, Merlin. See to the food and my horse. I have nothing else to say to you.” Merlin opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it and simply bowed himself from the room. Arthur ignored the twin splashes on the stone floor where Merlin’s tears had fallen when he bowed his head in deference.

oOo

The sky was grey and overcast as Arthur slunk towards the stables. His well-worn boots made no noise on the floor and he moved with a hunter’s easy grace. Nearing the stables he saw the outline of his horse, saddled and bridled; hooves wrapped in rags to muffle the sound of their steps. He sighed, relieved that his good-for-nothing manservant had at least got one thing right – only to be brought up short when Merlin himself stepped from behind the horse, holding the reins of a nimble mare.

“You’re not coming.” Arthur said shortly. “I have no wish for your company.”

“You may need me.” Merlin replied, earning himself a derisive snort.

“I doubt that.” Arthur made to take the reins of his horse but Merlin held them out of reach.

“Either I come with you, or I march straight into Uther’s chambers and tell him what you’re going to do.” Merlin’s voice wavered on the last note, and he prayed fervently that the Prince would take him at his word.

Arthur scowled. “You would make me choose between your company and the lives of my people?”

“Yes,” Merlin said, raising his chin defiantly. Arthur looked at him for a long moment, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

“You’re lying.” He said at last. “You really are a dreadful liar, Merlin.” Merlin blinked and said nothing. Arthur snatched the reins from Merlin’s hand. “Come on, before someone sees us.”

oOo

The route through the forest was overgrown and treacherous. Everywhere, reaching vines and tangles roots threatened to trip the horses, whilst low hanging braches scraped and rasped at face and throat. They were moving into the deepest heart of the woods with no other guidance or direction than the thought that things of evil often sought places not often touched by mortal men. Merlin did not know how long they travelled. The canopy was thick and dense, turning the space beneath the leaves into perpetual twilight. The sun may have risen and set again for all he or Arthur would have been aware of it. He had just begun to give up hope of ever finding a sign of the creature when speck of white against the leaves caught his eye.

“Arthur,” he called, slipping from the saddle to work at untangling the swatch of cloth from a gnarled lump of briars. The strip of fabric was soft un-dyed wool – the king that might be used for a child’s nightclothes. He handed it to Arthur silently. The bramble stood at what, at first glance, appeared to be little more than a natural gap in the trees. However, on further inspection it became clear that the curve of the braches was not natural, something or someone had bent them that way to form a sort of tunnelled entrance. Arthur drew his sword and made to forge ahead but Merlin stopped him.

“Wait.” He said, and rummaged in his saddlebags. Carefully, he withdrew a tightly wrapped bundle and spread it on the forest floor. Arthur frowned down at the contents: honey, a cloth pouch, and a coil of iron wire.

“Merlin, what _are_ you doing?” He asked, as Merlin opened the pouch to reveal small white crystals of salt.

“Give me your sword.” His manservant responded, ignoring Arthur’s question. After a moment’s hesitation, Arthur complied, offering the weapon hilt first. Merlin took it, and laid it carefully upon his lap. Arthur watched, wary, until Merlin poured the honey across the edge of the blade in one swift move. At that, the Prince leapt forward and attempted to wrest the sword from Merlin’s grasp.

“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?” He demanded, surprised when Merlin managed to keep hold of the weapon.

“This creature is weak to iron and salt,” Merlin said calmly, sprinkling salt into the honey so that it clung to the blade. “This is the only way I could make sure that your sword would actually harm the creature.”

“And you couldn’t have just given me an iron _knife_.” Arthur demanded as Merlin began to wrap the iron wire around the blade. Merlin blinked. Arthur sighed. “It didn’t even occur to you did it?” Merlin blushed and returned the sword to its rightful owner.

“You won’t be able to sheath it,” he said, “so you’d best carry it in front of you.”

Arthur rolled his eyes at the obvious nature of the advice. Leaving Merlin to tie the horse’s reins to a branch, Arthur started forward into the thicket, sword held before him like a torch.

Merlin followed behind, silently moving branches and thorns from their path as they travelled deeper into the burrow. At last they came to what looked to be a cave, the walls glistening wetly and the water trickled in a corner and a shaft of light spilt from the ceiling. Whether it was sunlight or moonlight, Merlin could not say – the roof was too high – but it provided enough illumination to see by and for that they were both grateful.

Cautiously, the pair made their way into the cavern. Light sparkled on water and Merlin realised with a start that half the cave was filled up with a lake: deep and dark. His attention was so focused on the lake that Merlin failed to watch where he was going and stumbled, falling into Arthur and only the Prince’s strength kept them from both tumbling to the floor. Turning to see what it was that had tripped him, Merlin felt bile rise in his throat. A boy – possibly ten or eleven years of age – was lying spread-eagled on the floor. His eyes were wide and staring and even in the dim light of the cavern, Merlin could see his lips were blue. Behind him, Arthur murmured a prayer to ease the boy’s passing. Looking around, Merlin could see many such shapes in the half-darkness. His chest tightened as he thought of the grief the parents of these children would feel when they learnt of their son or daughter’s death.

“We need to find this monster.” Arthur’s voice sounded loud in the stillness of the cavern and Merlin flinched to think what might have heard them. Nodding, he knelt to close the boy’s eyelids before following Arthur to the water’s edge.

The lake was as still and quiet as the rest of the forsaken cave. Arthur dipped a hand in the liquid but no splash was heard and no ripples broke across the surface. When he withdrew, his skin was stained with things far darker than water was. Merlin was about to suggest they try looking somewhere else, when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention.

“Arthur, it’s here.”

Arthur did not ask if he was sure, or how it was that Merlin knew such things. Perhaps he felt it too, Merlin thought, as he fought back the panic that once again tried to roar to life in his mind. The air suddenly tastes foul and stale, cloying as it worked its way down Merlin’s throat.

Arthur raised his sword with one arm, as with the other he pushed Merlin down behind a cluster of rocks. “Stay there,” he instructed. “Don’t move.” He had moved away before Merlin could protest, leaving his manservant to watch as his master made his way towards the place where the light was greatest. Merlin knew straight away that whilst the light would enable Arthur to see his opponent the terrain would make it hard to keep his balance. The ground was rough and pitted, rocks of varying shapes and sizes littered the ground – some so sharp that Merlin feared the Prince would slice his ankle open even through his boot.

Scanning the cavern, Merlin waited for the tell-tale shift, the dark spread of shadow in the blackness that would mark the creature’s location. Nothing.

Suddenly, his magic seared white hot and violent in his veins. With a cry, Merlin fell backwards, watching with wide eyes as a writhing shadow shot above his head and headed straight for Arthur. The Prince, having heard Merlin’s cry wheeled around, slicing viciously with his sword as the darkness came within his reach. The thing shrieked as salt and iron cut into its oily flesh, tumbling backwards towards the waters edge.

The shadows receded and in their place was the figure of an old and wizened man. His flesh was raw and oozing, skin like one huge burn that glistened wetly in the darkness. As he crawled into the light, Merlin saw the where skin or hair should be, was only bloody, mangled flesh; he had been scalped. The thing turned its head, skull wobbling as though the tendons that attached it to the neck were not all there. It gazed first at Merlin, then Arthur, before returning to stare at Merlin. It seemed to be waiting for something.

“Why did you steal the children?” Merlin asked, even as his brain told him that he would not get an answer.

“Punishment,” the thing hissed, as it scuttled over the ground, and Merlin found he could not move. “They misbehaved. Drowned them.” It was coming closer now, moving over the wet rocks to where Merlin lay sprawled upon the ground. He glanced wildly round for Arthur, only to gasp in horror when he saw the Prince struggling against shackles made of shadows. Arthur met his gaze, the helplessness and the anger written clearly on his face. Merlin felt the thing lean over him.

He turned his head to look, only to shut his eyes against the sight. “And the child by the woods?” He said, “Why did you return her?”

“A mistake.” The thing hissed, burnt and rotting vocal cords struggling to form the words. “An error.” Putrid breath broke over them in a wave, and Merlin gagged, retching on the stench of decomposing flesh.

Merlin magic boiled beneath his skin, fighting with his instinct not to perform magic in front of Arthur. He was older now; his magic could not escape the way it had when he was a child, and Merlin fought with every fibre of his being. He couldn’t – not with Arthur watching.

“I remember.” The thing said, and Merlin felt raw flesh caress his cheek. “The boy who conjured salt from the sky.” The words were said so softly that Merlin knew Arthur could not have heard, but it did not stop the thrill of terror running through him. “Revenge.” The thing hissed.

Merlin knew he had no choice. As the thing reared, hand raised to swipe across his neck, Merlin uttered three simply words.

The sword flew from Arthur’s hands, streaking across the cavern to bury itself hilt-deep with the creature’s neck. The thing screamed and toppled backwards as sparks exploded from where iron and salt gouged their way into its flesh. Merlin felt the force that had been binding him weaken and with one arm flung as much raw power as he could muster at the creature. He did not try to form a spell or direction in his mind. His only thought was to destroy. Light flared within the cave, brilliant and gold. The creature exploded, its cries echoing off the cavern walls, leaving Arthur’s sword to clatter to the floor.

Merlin stumbled to his feet, blinking against the light that did not seem to wish to fade. A glance to his right told him that Arthur’s bonds had disappeared with the creature’s death. The Prince was watching him in disbelief.

Stooping, Merlin picked up Arthur’s sword and made his way towards the Prince. He proffered the weapon hilt first, wincing when Arthur snatched it from his grasp, the edge of the blade slicing into the skin of Merlin’s palm. He was unsurprised when Arthur’s sword swung up to level at his throat.

“You’re a sorcerer.” Arthur’s voice was harsh, his sword gleaming in the darkness.

“Yes.”

“Traitor.”

“No.”

A muscle was twitching in Arthur’s jaw. “ _Liar_. First Morgana and now this? Tell me, Merlin, is she a witch too?”

Merlin bit his cheek and refused to answer. Arthur released a strangled sort of sound that Merlin supposed was meant be a laugh. “How many of you are there? Burrowing your way into the castle like vermin. I trusted you.” Arthur all but yelled the last; spit flying to land on Merlin’s cheek. “I trust you and this is how you repay me? By practicing magic behind my back?”

“I have _never_ used my magic to harm you.” Merlin protested. “It is my destiny to protect you.”

Merlin knew at once it had been the wrong this to say. Something within Arthur seemed to snap. He threw away his sword and charged at Merlin, pushing them back towards the wall.

“I don’t need protection from a sorcerer.” Arthur growled, fisting his hands in Merlin’s tunic. Merlin winced as Arthur’s knuckled pressed deep enough to bruise his skin. He made a half-hearted attempt to bat the hands away, prepared to let the Prince express his anger. That thought changed abruptly when Arthur landed a solid punch to his gut, that left him gasping.

“Sorcerer.” The Prince hissed, and the venom in his voice made Merlin’s blood run cold.

“Arthur stop it. Stop.” He began to struggle in earnest, managing to break Arthur’s hold for a heartbeat, before Prince grabbed him by the throat.

Roughly, Arthur shoved Merlin hard into the wall, knocking the air from his lungs and crushing him with the weight of his own body. With one hand he held Merlin’s wrists above his head, while with the other he tore at Merlin’s clothes. Merlin yelled wordlessly in protest and Arthur’s mouth sealed over his – a living gag that was a perverse parody of a kiss. Merlin stilled. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Sword calloused hands grabbed and stroked at Merlin’s body – touching in way that was not meant to pleasure but to pain. Arthur dug his fingers into Merlin’s hips, scratching his nails across the exposed flesh.

“They say this is the worst form of punishment.” Arthur snarled, “That it destroys the mind as well as the body. Let’s find out, shall we?” His hands tore at Merlin’s breaches, snapping the laces with violent motions. Merlin stayed still and un-protesting against Arthur’s assault. It took Arthur long moments to notice through his rage.

“Fight me.” He growled against bruised lips. “Fight me.”

Merlin sighed, letting the warm air wash against the Prince’s skin. “Why are you so determined to take, what I would freely give?” He inquired.

Arthur’s hands froze, his mouth mere inches away from the bare skin of Merlin’s throat. Merlin could feel Arthur’s warm, moist breath against his skin.

“I love you.” He whispered, because it was true. However much Arthur might not believe it, might not wish to hear it, it was true. And he had believed, when he offered Nimueh his life on the Isle of the Blessed, that Arthur loved him too. Surely that had not changed. He had been so certain, all those months ago. There was more than simple friendship between them – a hundred looks, a thousand smiles; he had not just imagined them. But these past months things had changed, Arthur had been distant and aloof. Merlin only prayed that things between them had not changed so very much.

He waited, the heat of Arthur’s body warming him, even as the silence laid a chill within his bones. Eventually, Arthur broke away, hands falling to his sides as he surveyed the sorcerer.

“I can’t trust you, Merlin.”

“But you can,” Merlin protested, “Arthur, you _can_ trust me.”

“No.” Arthur corrected. “I might learn to trust you again, but not now. Not after all this.” He sighed, “And – I can’t love someone I can’t trust. I’m sorry, Merlin.”

Merlin felt a sob tear itself from his throat even as he tried to stifle it. He clapped a hand to his mouth as Arthur bent to retrieve the sword he had thrown away. Either the Prince thought it best to pretend he had not heard, or he did not know what to say, for he turned and began to walk away.

“We need to find someway of taking these bodies back to Camelot.” Arthur called over his shoulder. “Join me when you’re ready.” He did not look back to watch Merlin sink slowly to the floor, choosing instead to ignore the sound of gentle weeping and the broken sorcerer huddled against the wall.

~FIN  


**Author's Note:**

> I have taken liberties with the tale of Bloody Bones in order to incorporate all the great ideas I received in response to my appeal for gruesome nursery rhymes. Thank you to everyone who leant me their ideas, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to incorporate more of them.


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